Creative Justice
by Pantsman76
Summary: A US Marshall in New Austin deals out his own brand of crime-fighting that he refers to as creative justice, all the while running into a few familiar characters.
1. Fun with the Bollard Twins Gang

Jeremiah Boone leveled the Winchester rifle on the dusty old windowsill. The vacant, abandoned barn had not seen the company of another human being in a long time. Jeremiah hoped that it wouldn't soon be in the company of the flesh and blood of a human, either; or at least not his. Jeremiah had good aim, though, and the Bollard Twins were starting to reach the point in their infamous criminal endeavors where they were taking anyone and anything they could get their hands on. Most of their esteemed gunfighters were dead, and the chances that one of them would be hiding out in Tumbleweed were pretty low.

Jeremiah slowly rotated his rifle around the edge of the window so that he could see the right side of the combat zone. Sweat began to drip from the scruff on his long, skinny face. As he slowly revolved, he barely spotted the side of one of the criminals. Exhaling a deep breath, Jeremiah squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet directly into the felon's shoulder. With a yelp, the criminal plummeted to the rocky ground. Jeremiah slammed the lever on the rifle forward and back again, then quickly fired another round at the man grasping his shoulder, producing a sort of silence, save for the echo of the rifle that remained in the air.

Out of nowhere, an outlaw burst out of the ghost town's saloon fanning the hammer of his six-shooter. Jeremiah climbed down the ladder down as bullets struck his former position. As he bashed through the door, Jeremiah had no time to take carefully aimed shots. He fired a quick shot at the outlaw who attempted to reload his pistol as he ran away. The bullet barely missed. Jeremiah cocked the rifle again and fired. A spurt of blood shot into the air as the outlaw sailed into the worn-down General Store.

"Alright, Marshall!" said a voice that cut through the air from the old mansion on the hill behind the town. "We're givin' up, ya here? We're throwin' our guns out now!"

"I see 'em, Gus! Now why don't you and your friends there just step on out?" yelled Jeremiah as he trudged up the hill, rifle pointed at the entrance of the ancient mansion that had so long been an icon of the ghost town.

"We're heading out now, Marshall!" yelled Gus Ballard before opening the door. Gus ambled out, two of his cronies behind him.

Jeremiah slipped his rifle into the holster on his back and made his way up to the three men who stood with their hands behind their heads. He stood and smirked, getting a good look at each of the felons. Suddenly, he drew his Colt, pointed it at the man on Gus' left, and fanned the hammer, shooting him directly in the heart. He then swiftly aimed at the man on Gus' left, who barely had time to be shocked as Jeremiah fanned the hammer of his pistol three times, each bullet striking the outlaw in the torso, causing him to drop backward, lifeless. Jeremiah, then sent a bullet into each of Gus' knees, causing him to collapse in pain. Jeremiah did all of this in a matter of three seconds.

"You're the only one I really want alive, Ballard," said Jeremiah, throwing Gus over his back.

"What kinda justice is this supposed to be, Marshal?" said Gus in anger as he sobbed.

Flinging Gus onto the back of his horse, Jeremiah said: "Well, I guess it's my own special brand of Justice, Gus." Gus climbed onto his horse. "I suppose that if you wanted, you could call it creative justice. Huh. I like the sound of that. Thanks for the idea, Gus,"

"Don't mention it, Marshall," muttered Gus with a great sense of sarcasm as Jeremiah rode off into the sunset.


	2. John Marston and the Banditos

As the golden western sun disappeared over the horizon, John Marston felt an ounce of hope grow inside his heart. After all this business was over with Bill and Javier, he would go home to his ranch and raise his son, support his wife, and leave the life he had once lived completely behind him. He wouldn't let this new generation of motor cars, telephones, and big businesses of the east stop him. The traditions and principles of the west he had grown up in would help him guide his family to greatness. The Marston family would not be remembered as a family of criminals and degenerates, it would be one of the greatest ranching families in New Austin, like the MacFarlane's.

However, dwelling on the future would certainly not help him at this point in time. He was about to re-cross the border into Mexico. He had been here before, trying to find information on Javier Escuela, but he had wanted to wrap up some things in New Austin before going any further with his investigation. John had been riding slow as he thought. He decided it was time to pick up the pace. As he gave his loyal steed a jolt, he heard what he thought was gunfire to the southeast, across the border. John raced to the direction of the shots, pulling out his Schofield revolver. John never really was one for the fancy and elaborate automatic pistols, though he had used them on occasion.

As he came over the hill from which the gunshots were coming from behind, John noticed three banditos firing on two lawmen that were taking cover behind a downed stagecoach. The horses that had once pulled the wagon were both lying in the bronzed sand, dead, with a bullet in each of their necks. Flies buzzed around their repulsive remains. The ill-prepared outlaws failed to notice John, who stood triumphantly behind them on his stallion, revolver in hand. After rapidly planning their execution, John placed a .45 caliber bullet into the heads of each of the three outlaws. John rode over to the lawmen who lay relieved in the dirt, panting.

"Thanks so much for yer help, mister," said one of the officers. His badge told John he was a U.S. Marshall.

"I'm always willing to help you fine officers of the law, Marshall," said John half-truthfully. He didn't have a problem as much with local law enforcement, but he strongly believed that the new Federal lawmen were a nuisance and that they did more harm than good.

"Well, we can make it to Chuparosa from here by ourselves, seeing as how neither of us are injured,"

"Alright then, I guess I'll be on my way,"

"Thanks again, friend."

As they walked away, Jeremiah turned to Marshall Murphy. He was a young man who had recently become a Marshall. Jeremiah could tell he was still spooked from the shootout, as he obviously hadn't been ready for it. Jeremiah decided to engage in conversation with him.

"So, Neil, do you know who that man was who saved us?"

"No, Jeremiah, I didn't have any idea," said Neil, obviously trying to make it seem like he hadn't been bothered by the ambush.

"That was John Marston, that one bounty hunter," said Jeremiah. Neil nodded his head without a word. It was apparent that he didn't want to talk.

Jeremiah just kept walking with him, not making eye contact. He decided that perhaps it was best to leave him alone. Once they got to Chuparosa, they would be able to relax. They'd get their hands on some horses, and head back to Armadillo. He was still worried about Neil, but he predicted that once they got some sleep, he would get over it. After all, if one wanted to make it in the western law enforcement business, he would have to not be traumatized after every gunfight. That was part of the business, and if you wanted to survive, you would have to be able to deal with not only getting shot at, but shooting outlaws. A good Marshall performed with no fear and no remorse.


	3. The Thieves' Landing Gunfight-Part I

"What the heck is this?" asked Jeremiah as he glared at the metal contraption that he grasped in his hand.

"That's a Fabrique Nationale Model 1903, but most folks have taken to calling it the High Power Pistol. It's foreign, but it puts 'em down in about one to three shots. Shoots as fast as you can pull the trigger," said Buford.

"Well I thank you for the nice find, Sheriff, and I appreciate you getting' ahold of me to give me this here gift,"

"I can tell you for sure, Jeremiah, none of the Marshalls in New Austin are more deserving of such an innovative firearm," said Buford.

Just then, the clock in the Sheriff's office of MacFarlane's Ranch chimed. It was one o'clock.

"Well, I suppose it's time for me to get going," said Jeremiah.

"I suppose it is friend, see ya around," said Buford

"Thanks again, Sheriff," Jeremiah said as he exited the building.

MacFarlane's Ranch was a wonderful place. It was about as American as you could get. The family was so successful that their ranch had a post office, a Jail, and even a General Store. The place was filled with hardworking people who strived to do their best in everything that they do. Sure, there had been suffering and trials to get to where they were, but it was assuredly not without reward. As a result of their success, however, criminals were motivated to take away the things these people had worked all their life for, and that's exactly why New Austin had people like Jeremiah Boone and Sheriff Buford Ackley to protect them.

Jeremiah hopped on his horse and took off back towards Blackwater. Jeremiah had always enjoyed gliding across the road on his trusty steed. He put a hand down on top of his hat as he jolted the horse into a full sprint. Jeremiah laughed as he felt the rush of the wind move smoothly along his face. As the air surrounding him became more and more humid, and the earth below him slowly became damp and muddy, Jeremiah eased his horse into a much slower trot. He would soon be in Thieves' Landing.

They weren't very fond of lawmen there. Jeremiah didn't worry. He had a reputation with most of the criminals in New Austin. They knew of his 'Creative Justice', which had by now become infamous amongst the various gangs and crooks that happened to call Thieves' Landing their home. Of course, every once in a while, some new gang member who didn't know of this reputation would get carried away. That would turn into a problem.

Regardless, Jeremiah trotted into Thieves' Landing with his badge still on, his face uncovered, and his hand on the brand-new pistol in his holster. He rode with his eyes set forward, but using peripheral vision to watch for any outlaw foolish enough to pull a gun on him. He watched several criminals take a quick glance at him, then swiftly look away, praying that Jeremiah hadn't noticed them. Jeremiah crossed the bridge, over to the other side of the town that consisted of a bar, a brothel, and various stores. That's when he heard it: the ever-so-familiar sound of a pistol being cocked.

Before the felon even had time to aim, Jeremiah pulled out his new pistol and shot the man in the chest. Everyone in the town stared at Jeremiah, his pistol still raised, and then at the reckless outlaw, who stared down at the gaping cavity in his chest. He dropped his revolver, sending it plummeting to the ground from the balcony on which he stood. The criminal then placed his hands on the wound from which blood began to spill all over his leather coat, but to no avail. Exchanging one last glance with his executioner, the man leaned forward, sliding over the rail, and dropped to the ground below, dead.

There was a short-lived moment of silence as the townspeople gazed at the body of the young, stupid criminal. They then all diverged their eyes towards Jeremiah, who promptly leaped off his horse and behind a building that lie on the opposite end of the street, bullets whizzing by him from the angry men who had witnessed him kill one of their friends. Behind the building also was a generator, which, combined with the sound of gunfire, made too much noise for Jeremiah to handle. Jeremiah then sprinted up the stairs on the other side of the building, staying as close to the wall as possible in order to prevent getting hit by one of the countless bullets that were heading from his left. At the top of the stairs was a door which Jeremiah swiftly burst open. Inside, he saw a man firing out of one of the windows with a Henry Repeater. Jeremiah recognized that man as none other than John Marston.


	4. The Thieves' Landing Gunfight-Part II

"How do you do friend?" said Jeremiah, firing his pistol through the window, as if no gunfight was really going on.

"I'm doing just fine. How about yourself?" asked John in the same manner.

"Unfortunately, it seems that I have gotten myself into a fine bit of trouble, friend. Mind giving me a hand?" asked Jeremiah.

"I'd be delighted to, partner." replied John, pulling out a stick of dynamite. He proceeded to light it. "Heads up!"

The dynamite made a deafening explosion, leaving Jeremiah, John, and anyone left alive below them with ringing ears. Jeremiah and John stayed in cover with their hands covering their ears, waiting in agony for their hearing to return. After what seemed like eternity, it finally did. Jeremiah breathed a sigh of relief before peaking outside the window, trying to see if there were any survivors. As it turned out, anyone who wasn't blown to several pieces rolled around on the ground, wounded or deafened. Jeremiah sat back down.

"So what are you doing out this way, John?" asked Jeremiah.

"I was heading to Blackwater when I decided I'd take a rest here," said John.

"As it just so happens, I was hoping to head out that way as well. What do you say we ride up there together?"

"Sounds like a fine idea to me. Let me just get my things around and we'll head out," said John.

After John had gotten his weapons and clothes together, he and Jeremiah started down the stairs. Jeremiah, with his pistol drawn, went in front of John ready to fire at a moment's notice, while John carried some extra things to put in his saddle. As Jeremiah turned around the corner at the bottom of the stairs, he noticed a man with a shotgun lying in wait to kill him and John. Jeremiah jolted backwards as buckshot tore apart the wooden siding of the safehouse. Jeremiah turned the corner and shot the man in the neck and then the head with his High Power Pistol. John's horse was hitched to his left.

As John loaded up his mount, Jeremiah surveyed the area around them, waiting for another criminal to strike. When John was ready, Jeremiah whistled for his own horse, which promptly came through the alley. Luckily for Jeremiah, his stallion was unscathed. Without a word, John and Jeremiah trotted out of the alley. Jeremiah observed the mangled, bloody bodies that covered the street.

As they rode out of Thieves' Landing, the horse's hooves made a familiar plopping sound that was customary when riding through Thieves' Landing. The only difference was that now the sound was not created because of water, but because of blood. Leaving a trail of death behind them, Jeremiah and John rode out of Thieves' Landing and towards Blackwater, unbeknownst to them that this would be the second to last time that they'd see each other.


	5. Creative Justice in the Armadillo Saloon

Jeremiah inhaled the strong aroma of smoke and alcohol which often inhabited the Armadillo Saloon. Jeremiah had always enjoyed spending time in the saloon. It had little to do with the fact that he enjoyed a shot or two of whiskey every once in a while, but the saloon was a symbol of the west that he had come to know and love. Armadillo was practically in the center of New Austin, and as a result, every type of person that populated New Austin was found in the Saloon at one time or another. It was a place where people came to socialize and be with others.

Of course, there was also the darker side of the Armadillo Saloon. This side was one that Jeremiah also embraced, but for a different purpose. Although honest townsfolk, farmers, cowboys, and officers of the law would often go there, the Saloon was also occupied with cutthroats, murderers, thieves, and thugs. Jeremiah's job as a U.S. Marshall was to keep all the fine people of New Austin safe from these criminals. Often times, he would enter the saloon with the objective of doing just that. This was one of those times.

Jeremiah walked slowly up to the bar, refusing to make any sort of look at his five targets. At the bar was the bartender that Jeremiah knew well, Dewey Greenwood.

"So Dewey, who do we have sitting behind me today?" asked Jeremiah whispering.

"Well it looks like five members of Walton's Gang. They're all circled around the table behind you. Nobody's behind 'em," said Dewey under his breath. Jeremiah looked in the mirror at the five outlaws surrounding the table, planning out his attack. Walton's Gang members were always characterized by their tattered clothes and hats as well as their generally scruffy appearance.

"I'd cover your ears, Dewey," said Jeremiah. Dewey proceeded to do so.

Jeremiah spun around as he pulled out his High Power Pistol. He marked each spot he was going to shoot in his mind. The outlaws barely had time to stand up out of their chair before Jeremiah shot the first gang member in the face, causing him to spill over in his chair. Jeremiah shot the next outlaw twice in the chest as he reached for his gun, causing him stumble backward and into a window, shattering it. Jeremiah popped off two more rounds into two criminals who were both in a frenzy to pull their pistols, sending them dropping to the floor. The last outlaw was more prepared with his pistol pointed at Jeremiah. Jeremiah shot the tattered top hat on the criminal's head, distracting him. Jeremiah then unloaded all but one of his rounds into the torso of the man.

Jeremiah lowered his gun to his side before observing the faces of the shocked citizens that were in the saloon. They glared in shock at the Marshall, who was now panting and sweating from the adrenaline rush that had recently surged through his body. He glared back until he heard a moan from the pile of dead outlaws. Slowly, Jeremiah walked up to it. One of the men was failing to stand up as his feet were slipping in the pool of his own blood that formed around him. Jeremiah raised his pistol to the man's head, and squeezed the trigger.

At this, the townsfolk ran out of the saloon trampling over each other and screaming for their life. Jeremiah stood there in the center of the saloon, observing his handiwork. That was when Marshall Johnson came in, pistol drawn.

"What is this?" he asked furiously. It was more of a statement than a question.

"This here's the outlaws Link Huston, Mo van Barr, Perry Rose, Rufus Higbee, and Woody Swenson, all of whom have just been brought to justice," said Jeremiah non-chalantly.

"Boone! How come every time you walk into my town you have to cause some sort of trouble?" asked Johnson, yelling. He pointed his pistol at Jeremiah.

"I think I just did you a favor, Marshall. Now as a Federal Law Officer of the United States of America I'm going to have to implore you to move on out of the way so I can head back in the direction from which I came from," said Jeremiah, almost as if he was trying to outsmart Johnson.

"I hate you government boys. You always come into our towns and scare all these fine people," said Johnson, lowering his gun.

"Well that's nice but I believe it's about time for me to be going, Marshall Johnson. Thank you for the hospitality," said Jeremiah.

"Yeah, I'll see you in hell, Boone," said Johnson as he watched Jeremiah walk out of the saloon, jump on his horse, and ride out to who knows where.


	6. The Result of a Bad Temper

The blazing heat of the unclouded sun made Jeremiah extremely uncomfortable as he inched towards the Mexican town of Escalera. The town was built on the side of a hill, all of the buildings leading up to the secured mansion that belonged to the corrupt Mexican leader, Colonel Agustin Allende. Allende had a reputation of dishonesty, and he wasn't someone that Jeremiah wanted to trust. Unfortunately for him, the law made it so he had no choice. Jeremiah was here to transport a dangerous American prisoner from Nuevo Paraiso to New Austin. Rufus Starkey had shot and killed the daughter of an American politician, but not before taking advantage of her. This was the kind of scum that Jeremiah had fought so hard to keep away from the American people. If Rufus didn't keep his mouth shut, Jeremiah wasn't sure if he'd make it out of Nuevo Paraiso alive.

Jeremiah stopped at the archway in front of the Escalera jail. Standing there was Colonel Allende himself, as well as his just as disgusting right-hand man, Captain Vincent de Santa. As far as Jeremiah was concerned, they were both just as despicable if not more so than Rufus, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

"Welcome to Mexico, Marshall Boone," said Allende in his thick Mexican accent. Jeremiah was fairly certain Allende was drunk.

"It's my pleasure, Colonel," said Jeremiah, lying. He didn't mind the country of Mexico, he just didn't like Allende.

"I suppose you'd like to get right down to business, huh? Good man. The prisoner is inside. I will lead you there," said Allende, as if he truly believed that Jeremiah needed leading.

Rufus was in the first cell, asleep with his hat covering his eyes. His long, grey trench coat was tattered and dirty. Jeremiah knew how Allende was very loose with his policy on prisoner treatment, as was Jeremiah. That may be the one thing they had in common, Jeremiah thought.

"He's all yours, Marshall," said Allende. Jeremiah liked the sound of that.

"Get up!" yelled Jeremiah, throwing Rufus on the ground.

Rufus tried to stand back up, coughing. Jeremiah pulled him up and spun him around, tying a rope around his wrists and feet. Jeremiah led him to his horse and threw him over the edge.

"I hope to see you again, Marshall," Allende said, chuckling.

Jeremiah said nothing as he began to trot away. Rufus had quit coughing and moaning by now.

"Marshall, I just thought you might like to know that I actually kind of regret slicing up that pretty girl," said Rufus, obviously trying to anger Jeremiah. He had heard all about his 'Creative Justice'.

"Shut your mouth, Rufus!" yelled Jeremiah. If Rufus was trying to anger him, it was working.

"I mean, I also am kind of happy I killed her. She just wouldn't shut up about how her father was an important man, and how I'd get killed if I did anything to her."

Jeremiah lost his composure. He reached back and threw Rufus off his horse. He then jumped down and pulled the pump action shotgun out of the rifle holster on his back. Shoving the barrel into Rufus' face, he pulled the trigger. The explosive bang brought Jeremiah back into reality. He looked around and noticed everyone in the town running away out of fear. A startled Mexican soldier cocked his Spencer rifle, preparing to shoot Jeremiah. Jeremiah blew him away with the shotgun. It was then that Jeremiah realized that he had just started a gunfight in the largest, most powerful city in Nuevo Paraiso. Jeremiah ran up the hill. He decided the best building to take cover in was the brothel that was a few feet away from the jail. As he ran up the hill, Jeremiah shot two soldiers that were taking cover behind the church, and an officer that was firing from the stairs of the jail.

Jeremiah jumped through the door to the brothel and shot a half-dressed officer who was attempting to flee out the door on the other side of the building, firing his pistol behind him. Jeremiah noted that he would have to defend both doors. The one that the officer had just tried to leave through had a staircase leading up to it, but the ground on his left leveled up next to the door as well. Jeremiah decided to take cover behind the wall next to the door he had come through, since more soldiers would probably be coming form that side. A police officer ran inside, rifle at the ready, ready to take on the menace that was hidden inside. Jeremiah drove his body into the wall and shot him in the gut with his 12 gauge.

Jeremiah grabbed the officer's Henry rifle and began to fire on the assailants who were storming towards his position. After what seemed like eternity, a voice rang out across the city.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" It was the voice of Colonel Allende. He was trying to calm down his troops.

Jeremiah used this to his advantage and left through the back door. Once on the ground, he whistled for his horse. As shots still rang out, tearing away at the structure where he had been taking refuge, Jeremiah rode off undetected; praying that official talk of this incident would not make its way to New Austin.


	7. Red Dead Remorse

Tired, Jeremiah opened the grand door of the Police Station, the heat splashing him in the face unexpectedly. Maybe with all these newfangled inventions from the east someone could create something that cooled down the temperature in buildings. As he closed the door behind him he noticed a man at the front counter, counting dollar bills.

"One-hundred-thirty-four, one-hundred-thirty-five, one-hundred-thirty-six,"

"Um, excuse me. Do you know where I can find Edgar Ross?" asked Jeremiah as the man kept counting.

"One-hundred-thirty-nine, one-hundred-forty. He's upstairs on the right," said the man without losing focus.

"Uh, thanks," said Jeremiah as he began to head upstairs.

The door to Ross' office was open. Jeremiah inched inside nervously to discover Ross sitting at his desk, writing something on a piece of paper.

"Take a seat, Mr. Boone," he said without looking up. Jeremiah proceeded to do so.

Ross wore a grey suit with a red tie, and his bushy white moustache was glowing as the light from the window to his right illuminated his face. Another man stood in the corner, loading several pistols. They were newer, automatic, and one of them appeared to be a High Power Pistol, much like the one Jeremiah was carrying. The man loading them wore a black suit and paid little attention to Jeremiah.

"Agent Ross, I am here because I was told you had a proposition for me," said Jeremiah.

"And indeed I do, Marshall Boone," said Ross. He looked up from his paper and at Jeremiah. "I am in the process of assembling a team of U.S. Marshalls whom alongside myself and Agent Fordham here will work in conjunction with the Army to take down a notorious criminal. I would like you to be part of that team,"

"Well, I would be honored to. Who would we be hunting?" asked Jeremiah. He was always up for a big job.

"A killer who was once part of the Dutch van der Linde gang. He's quite a despicable character," said Ross.

"I heard you had recently eradicated all the members of that gang," Jeremiah stated.

"Yes, well, this is the last enemy that shall be destroyed, as it were," said Ross, grinning.

"Well when would we be heading out?" asked Jeremiah, needing no more information on the target.

"We're riding out tomorrow at noon. He is currently residing at the ranch in Beecher's Hope," said Ross

The man in black, whom Jeremiah could only assume was agent Fordham, chimed in: "He is currently living there with his family, but our only targets are anyone that's shooting at us,"

"All right then, I'll meet you there at eleven o'clock to start preparing," said Jeremiah as he stood up.

"Goodbye Marshall, I'm glad to have a man with your skills on the team," said Ross.

That comment surprised Jeremiah. Most lawmen he worked with weren't big supporters of his whole 'Creative Justice' concept. Jeremiah exited the building, climbed on his horse and trotted to Tall Trees. He would spend the night there and meet with the agents in Blackwater the next day.

The next morning came fast as Jeremiah prepared for the day. He put on his clothes, his boots, his gun belt, his rifle holster (which held a Henry Rifle) and his hat. After getting some breakfast, he hopped on his stallion and proceeded to Blackwater where he passed some time in a game of poker at the saloon. After a while, he cashed out and rode back over to the police station, where Ross and Fordham were loading up their horses with weapons and ammo.

"Mr. Boone, you made it! We were starting to worry," said Ross. "We were just about to head out to the Army camp where we will begin the charge from,"

"Well I'm ready to go when you are, sir," said Jeremiah.

The men were followed by more Marshalls. Jeremiah recognized some, but others he did not. It wasn't long before they had reached the spot. Jeremiah was astonished by how many soldiers there were. It must have been a whole company.

"Are all these men really necessary, Ross?" he asked, quite concerned.

"This is a very dangerous man we are dealing with, Mr. Boone. He has killed many men, so we must overwhelm him with force, as that is the only way we can defeat him," Ross said confidently. He had reason to be confident that he would get his man.

After an hour of packing and preparing, the force rode out at full speed towards Beecher's Hope. The plan was that they would attack from all sides, closing in and surrounding their target. He would be in one of the last waves, the one composed of the most-experienced men. Jeremiah didn't see the need for so many waves of men, as he hadn't met very many men who were dangerous and deadly enough that they could take out that many people without getting shot.

When they had reached their destination just outside the ranch, Jeremiah sat behind the western hill, ready to attack. The first waves sprang into action, rifles ready. Jeremiah peered his head over the hill. Gunfire rang out from all over. Jeremiah was too far away to really see anything, but he could see two men on the porch of the house firing at the incoming soldiers, whom were dropping like flies. They were almost all dead when Jeremiah noticed that one of the men on the porch was now lying down. He must have been killed.

The other man however was now escorting two other people out of his home. They must have been his wife and son, Jeremiah presumed. He prayed to God that the soldiers and lawmen wouldn't fire at them. This man may have been an outlaw, but there was never a reason to kill women and children. He prayed that Ross had gotten the right men for this job, so that some stupid kid wouldn't shoot them so he could heighten his kill count.

Still, he had a respect for this man, whoever he was, because he was trying to protect his family. He must not have been as much of a degenerate as Ross had made him out to be. Regardless, Ross' men were barely starting to overwhelm the target, as he had killed most of them. As his family ran into the barn to Jeremiah's right the man climbed on top of the grain silo to provide better cover. The third group of waves set out. The next wave would be Jeremiah's.

Trying not to take his eyes off of the massacre, he climbed onto his horse. The soldiers were all dying. If this was the best was the best that Ross could find, then this man really was as dangerous as he'd said. Jeremiah wasn't afraid. He trusted not only himself, but the men he was fighting with. As the outlaw finished off the last of the soldiers, Jeremiah's group took off toward the fleeing man whom was seeking refuge in the barn with his family.

Ross shouted out to the men as they speeded towards their objective, "Don't fire on him while he's inside the barn! Wait until you have a clear shot!"

The men all came to a halt outside the barn. Jeremiah heard the familiar sound of the cocking of firearms as they jumped off their horses and formed a semi-circle around the barn. He pulled out his pistol and aimed at the door, waiting to come face-to-face with the menace. There was a long pause. The only sound that could be heard was muffled talking from the barn. Suddenly, the large barn door burst open and the assailant drew his revolver. He pointed it right at Jeremiah. The target was none other than John Marston. The friend of Jeremiah's who had helped him out on two separate occasions. Jeremiah stared in astonishment as the look on Marston's face changed from an expression of anger and hatred to an expression of bewilderment and disappointment.

Jeremiah had no idea what to do, so he did what he was trained to do. He unloaded the magazine into John. The slide on the gun locked back, but Jeremiah kept pulling the trigger. Once he snapped back into reality he dropped the pistol to the ground. He looked at the monster Edgar Ross, who smirked as he lit a cigar and stuffed it in his mouth. John Marston did not deserve to die. Regardless of what he had done in the past, if he was no longer a criminal, what was the point?

This wasn't what Jeremiah had become a Marshall. Not to kill innocent people. But how innocent was John? Hadn't he killed innocent people? Doesn't that mean he was deserving of his fate? Jeremiah sat and stared as his gun which lay on the ground. He picked it up, loaded in another magazine, and placed it back in his holster. He climbed back on his horse and rode away. There would be no more 'Creative Justice' in New Austin for a long, long time.


End file.
